


in the crooks of your body, I find my religion

by starraya



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, Utter Filth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 10:00:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13432326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starraya/pseuds/starraya
Summary: "Come on, Berenice," Serena implores with a devilish twinkle in her eyes. "Boobs or ass?""Remind me again how we got on this topic?"-Or Serena is very drunk and Bernie is very gay. I swear this story started out with some sort of plot??? If you ask really nicely I'll write another chapter.





	in the crooks of your body, I find my religion

"Come on, Berenice," Serena implores with a devilish twinkle in her eyes. " _Boobs or ass_?" 

"Remind me again how we got on this topic?" 

They have just stumbled through the door after a night out at Albies with their collegues and Serena is more than a little tipsy.

"I overhead a group of lads talking about it while you were in the loo." Serena hangs her coat on one of the hooks on the hallway wall. "It piqued my interest. So . . . which do you prefer?"

Bernie toes off her shoes and ducks away from Serena's questions and into the living room.

Serena simply follows her and leans back against the living room door, arms folded. She arches an expectant eyebrow.

Bernie knows she's fighting a losing battle, so she navigates a careful surrender. "You mean . . . in . . . other women?"

"No," Serena teases, "Ric Griffin." 

Serena chuckles at Bernie's shudder. 

"Or . . ." Bernie narrows her eyes - maybe this is a trick question. "In you?"

"Either."

"You . . . you want me to objectify you?"

"Yes." A very drunk Serena strikes a seductive pose against the wall. "Objectify me."

"That is really not as sexy as you think it sounds. And I think Friedan's ghost just threw your copy of The Feminine Mystique on our bedroom floor."

"Bedroom, yes, can we follow that thought?"

It's Bernie'sturn to chuckle _._ Then to gulp as Serena swaggers over to her and closes the gap between them until there are mere atoms between their lips.

"And you still haven't answered my question." Serena presses a finger to Bernie's lips. "Don't worry, this is just between us."

"My favourite part of you is . . . you have a lovely smile."

Serena moves one of Bernie's hands to her breast, one to her ass.

"I _have_ a lovely smile?"

"And . . . other lovely things."

Bernie squeezes Serena's breast, her ass. A bit roughly. Serena moans. 

And suddenly Bernie knows what to do. 

- 

Bernie considers Serena's question seriously. She always considers Serena's questions seriously and this one she muses at length. 

Serena's breasts are, put simply, magnificent.Their heaviness in the palm of her hands, the way Serena arches into her when Bernie cups them, brushes her thumb against her nipple through the fabric. The softness of Serena's skin when she peppers kisses across the top of her breasts, before dipping her head to trail a line of kisses down between them.

Bernie thinks of the way Serena's breath hitches when Bernie skims fingers along the underside of her breasts, gentle and teasing and never enough. The way Serena groans when Bernie rolls a nipple between her fingers or tugs it, the way Serena likes, on the side of rough and a bit unpredictable, sometimes soft, sometimes sharp,  but it's also, always, never enough. 

Not until Bernie's replaces her fingers with her lips, swirls her tongue around her nipple, before taking it within her mouth and sucking. Sometimes holding it between her teeth and letting it go to another glorious groan.

Bernie is nothing if not merticulous and always gives each breast equal attention, her mouth often devoted to one, her fingers to the other.

However, Serena can get impatient if Bernie decides to tease and not give her the pressure she wants. Sometimes, she grabs Bernie's hand and moves it to her breast. Sometimes, she orders Bernie to touch her. Sometimes, Bernie orders her back and grabs her wrists and pins them above her head and Serena's eyes blacken, excitement pulsing hot down her spine and between her thighs.

Sometimes, Serena touches herself, plays with a nipple while she straddles Bernie, while she rides her. Bernie lies back and her eyes roam Serena's body, her breasts particulary, as she fucks herself on the dildo. Fucks Bernie.

Serena's chest glistens with sweat and Bernie thinks happily  _this_ _is_ _how_ _it_ _ends_. 

However, they are also the other times. The times they are stood at the foot of their bed and her hands squeeze Serena's ass as their still clothed bodies press together and their tongues delve into each other's mouths and Serena moans into the kiss.

There are the times Bernie's fingernails dig marks Serena's ass when Serena straddles her face, her thighs eitherside of Bernie's head while Bernie's tongue rapidly works Serena up to release. Bernie sees her shake, knows her hands are clutching the headboard, hears her curse, feels her throb, tastes more wetness. 

There are the times when Serena crawls onto the bed, onto her hands and knees and Bernie takes her from behind and slips two, three fingers into her and pumps them relentlessly in and out of her. Or the time she finds out Serena likes Bernie bringing her hand down hard on her ass after she pushes the dildo into her. It was also the time she learnt how much Serena liked Bernie's hand pulling her hair. 

There are other times when Serena is on top of Bernie, pushing into _her_ and Bernie's fingers dance on the straps over her ass. One of Serena thrusts is particulary hard. Bernie whimpers and her hands mould to her ass and she leaves marks, again.

Despite all these memories, this careful contemplation, Bernie can't help but think Serena's question was terribly reductive. That there are other parts deserving of equal worship.

Such as the column of her neck and the way Serena tilts her head back when Bernie trails kisses down it and sucks on Serena's pulsepoint long enough for it to mark. 

Such as the spot underneath her jaw where Bernie's touch sends a spark of electricity shooting through her, or the juncture of shoulder, where Bernie bites down just before she makes Serena come. 

Or her ear, which Bernie's fingertips sometimes trace the shape of soothingly after sex, when Serena's head is on her chest and her deep breathes are warm on Bernie's skin. 

Sometimes, Bernie will Serena press her up against a hard surface, their hallway wall, their bedroom door, once even once the wall of their office when the blinds are closed and lick a line down her earlobe, tug it between her teeth and Serena will growl out a command or whimper a plea - depending on where Bernie's hands are, the curve of her ass or her heaving breasts or ever so lightly cupping her between her thighs, depending on how much pressure she's applying, how much want inside Serena she's relieving, depending on whether her wonderful hands are over her clothes or have slipped under a layer. 

Whether it's a command or plea, it is always some form of the same ask. _Take me to bed_. _Take me here. Take me later. Just fuck me._

_But first take off some bloody clothes, please._

_-_

Then there is the rest of Bernie's journey, as Serena watches her messy blonde hair drift lower down her body and Bernie's lips map out a path down the swell of her stomach, kiss the stretch marks she finds and stop at the crease of her hipbone. She looks up at Serena and sometimes her head is thrown back, sometimes she waits, sometimes her eyes are locked on Bernie's and dark with desire and insistent.

Sometimes, there is a unspoken threat, an unspoken challenge in her eyes: _Berenice bloody Wolfe if you don't . . ._

Bernie's head dips and her lips explore Serena's thighs, the stretchmarks, the faint scars from Serena's time in America - the ones Serena once explained to her when they were lying in bed, facing each other in the dark. 

Bernie loves Serena's thighs, loves running her hands down them, against the soft fuzz of hair. She loves how sensitive the skin is when her mouth nears the place Serena desperately needs it, but Bernie waits, waits with her teeth nipping to the inside of Serena's thighs and her tongue laving over the sting afterwards, and Serena murmurs a litany of curses and pleas.

Bernie's name is both when she moves her head to the Serena's dark curls and blows a breath over where she is so, so wet and so, so swollen.

 _All this_ , Bernie thinks, _for me. Because of me._

She swipes her tongue through her folds and feels Serena's hand find it's place in Bernie's hair - where it will fist. 

She loves this. She loves her taste. She loves her heat, her slickness when Bernie slips two fingers inside her of her, curls them.

She loves her screams.

The way her whole body tenses. The way she comes. The way she looks, flushed and panting. The way she feels, the way she pulses against her tongue.

The way she _groans_  when Bernie decides to continue, decides that her fingers fit too perfectly inside Serena, that her favourite place in the whole universe to be is, simply, _here_. 

Bernie knows, knew from before they even went upstairs, that she couldn't pick a favourite part of Serena's body, especially when they are right within the heat of it, when Serena's hips won't still - they never can - and Bernie must grip her hips or when Bernie's hand skates down Serena's thigh, to the back of her knee to hook round Bernie so she can fuck harder, quicker or when Serena legs wrap tight around Bernie and her heels dig into her skin, just like her nails. 

Bernie knows she could never pick a favourite part of Serena's body, and she knows that if she included Serena's mouth, _her tongue_ orher hands, surgeon's hands that know exactly how to drag Bernie to the point of madness, to heaven and back, to coax her to the edge again and again, well if she added those into the equation, for purely selfish reasons, then she is fucked.

But, of course, ever the action woman, she had a plan tonight. 

She watches Serena collapse back on to the bed from her fourth orgasm. Her eyes are shut and her breathing is ragged. "No . . . need for the . . . smug smirk, Berenice." 

Bernie grin widens. _Oh, there is every need._ Shehasa copious amount of Serena's wetness glistening on her skin to prove it. 

Bernie places a kiss on Serena's lips and Serena tastes herself.

"Does that answer your question Campbell?" She asks, even though she knows Serena's capacity for coherent thought is only slowly returning.

Serena feels positively, _thoroughly_ fucked. Just before her third orgasm, she saw it. Her obituary: fucked to death by Bernie Wolfe, although she was still to ascertain whether the honour would fall to Bernie's hands or mouth.

Bernie hasn't left an inch of her skin unexplored. Serena's whole body thrums, _aches -_ she thinksofthe bruises she will find tomorrow. 

She lies back on the bed and doesn't open her eyes, doesn't move when she feels Bernie leave for the toilet, hears the running of the bath tap.

_She feels utterly content._

_-_

Tomorrow morningBernie will study Serena, the sheets twisted around her hips, her nipples pebbling, exposed to the coolness of the morning, her arm stretched above her head, revealing a dark patch of hair. 

Her expression is soft, unguarded, the lines around her eyes and mouth plain. Her silver hair sticks up at odd ends.

 _She looks beautiful_. 

Worthy of the adoration Bernie gave last night. Worthy of more.

Bernie listens to her soft snores.

Serena is alive and here, they found there way back to each other in France, and Bernie thinks she will never stop celeberating that, not with words, but with her lips and tongue and teeth and fingertips.  

Serena turns, slowly rouses. 

 _Marry me,_ Berniewants to whisper to her as another plan forms in her head, _marry me_. 

But, she waits. 

Serena blinks at Bernie, blinks sleep out of her eyes and Bernie tells her how she never answered the question. _Which does she prefer?_

Serena's lips curve into a smile and, when she speaks, her voice is thick with sleep and its sends a throb of anticipation through Bernie.

"I'll give you my verdict tonight." 

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone for another chapter? Thoughts will be very much appreciated. 
> 
> So sometimes when I write smut, I do romanticise bodies, like how you call stretchmarks silver stripes but bodies are also just bodies so I wanted to write plainly for this fic.


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